


Happy For a Short While

by beanarie



Series: It Starts With an Earthquake [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing his daughter in dreams has always been harmless. Chloe rides a merry-go-round off to the side with other child-shaped projections. Chloe sits on a bench with her little legs swinging, a brown paper bag at her side and half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy For a Short While

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger. [gollumgollum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gollumgollum) is the most amazing jerk of an enabler. <3

Seeing his daughter in dreams has always been harmless. Chloe rides a merry-go-round off to the side with other child-shaped projections. Chloe sits on a bench with her little legs swinging, a brown paper bag at her side and half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her hand. Today Chloe is digging into a massive tartufo at a table in the outdoor section of the café. Arthur is across the road, trying to blend in as he watches Statler and the mark argue good-naturedly over panna cotta and bottomless cups of espresso. Statler has taken the shape of the mark's writing partner to act as a diversion. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Chiyoko emerge from the bookstore two doors down, a triumphant smile on her face. 

"Looks like we're done here," Arthur says into his radio.

"Wonderful! I love it when we beat the clock." Statler, seated five feet from the projection of Arthur's daughter, pulls a grenade from his bag, and blows a crater in the square. 

And Arthur hears a single gunshot that means Chiyoko is gone as well, but he is running toward the smoke. He's allowed. The job is over and there's no one around to-

The job is over. Arthur stops just at the edge of the devastation, letting the thought repeat. _The job is over._ He kicks himself out of the dream. 

In the waking world they're all full of back pats and self-congratulation, except for the mark, who's still sedated. Arthur nods, and nods, and is quietly sick in the bathroom.

He makes it to their latest safe-house within twelve hours. It's the middle of the night, and he's never actually been inside this place before, but they've been doing this for long enough that he knows what code to use on the alarm and which bedroom Eames would have set aside for Chloe.

Arthur lies precariously on the edge of her bed and watches her sleep. It doesn't feel like enough right then. He wants to hear her whine, smell her horrifying morning breath, feel her fingers tapping on his face and the back of his shoulder blade. But even now he can recognize the urge to wake her as purely selfish. He runs a hand down her back, feeling the bumps of her spine through the thin cotton of her pajama shirt. Leaving his arm in a loose circle around her waist, he goes to sleep.

They both move during the night, Arthur settling on his back, Chloe migrating across his chest, with her head resting in the space between his ribcage and his arm and her little tush inches from his face. Arthur disengages as gently as he can, amused. He doesn't often beat her to morning. She's congested, her breath coming in huffs through her mouth rather than fluttering through her nose. That probably has something to do with it.

Eames is already in the kitchen, frowning vaguely at the French press as he scratches his stomach and yawns. He'd heard Arthur come in last night, of course. That's not even in question. Arthur flattens his back against the fridge, wearily allowing it to take some of his weight. Those few hours had removed the anvil from his chest, but they hadn't been nearly enough to combat the combined forces of stress, jetlag, and fifteen nights spent on high alert. Eames winds his fingers around Arthur's wrist. "You're all right, yeah?" 

Arthur lets Eames tug him into a collision. "Yeah," he says into Eames's shoulder. "I'm good." The "now" at the end goes unspoken.

"So... sex?"

 _God, yes._ "Have we got time? She should be-"

"Not to worry." Eames kisses the side of Arthur's neck. "I kept her up half the night watching old Italian horror films."

Arthur bursts out laughing. The actual truth likely involves baby aspirin and decongestant. "Sick fuck. You want to turn our daughter into a serial killer?"

"If that's her calling, I have to say I'd feel better if she went into the vocation with the choicest of influences. Argento is a master."

"Says you. Psycho."

"Oh, you are knackered, aren't you?" Eames chuckles and disengages, though he keeps hold of Arthur's wrist. "Come on, I'm going to bring you off and then you are going to take a nice, long nap."

"Not too long," Arthur says, suddenly panicked. 

Eames stops short to look at him. "I'll make certain I wake you before lunch," he offers. 

Arthur nods. "Okay." He presses a kiss to Eames's shoulder and lets his forehead rest there. 

"Okay," Eames repeats, pulling Arthur along. "Welcome home, Arthur. At some point I'll give you the tour, I guess."


End file.
